


monochrome

by fabre



Category: Tales of the Abyss
Genre: Angst, Hope, M/M, Post-Canon, Waiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-07
Updated: 2010-02-07
Packaged: 2017-10-10 00:45:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/93402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fabre/pseuds/fabre
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All he could do was wait. (Set right before the epilogue.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	monochrome

It was like, no matter how much he tried to distract himself, to stop thinking about it, there was no escape. The hours he spent adjusting and tinkering with fontech, running errands for the emperor, training until every muscle in his body cried with that familiar ache of exhaustion. He'd tried everything to keep his mind from going back to it, but even the best of distractions had proved to be nothing but an intermission in that desperate, bleeding gap the other had left in his life.

He'd sworn to himself that he'd wait, had told himself over and over that Luke would be back eventually, that there was no way he was breaking his promise. He'd even been the one to reassure Tear that first night, when they'd all waited together for as long as their respective obligations had allowed them before regretfully leaving Tataroo Valley behind. All but him, that is, as he had stayed behind for at least an extra ten days. He just hadn't been ready to leave just yet.

It still didn't make waiting any easier.

Some days were better than others. On the good days he was full of hope, and he built things while wondering how Luke would react to them, if he would tease him for spending so much time "playing with his toys" as he'd sometimes referred to his time-consuming hobby. It often brought a smile to his face, picturing a much younger Luke tugging at his arm impatiently as he worked on something or another at his desk, trying to get him to go out and play with him. Eventually playing had become training, but the sulky pout on the redhead's face he probably didn't even know he was making had stayed the same.

Eventually, though, his mind would remember that he had no certainty that Luke was even alive, and even the best of days ended full of that overwhelming feeling of desperation, that tightening in his chest that made it hard to breathe and think rationally as he tried to deviate his thoughts to something, anything else. Anything that would lift that weight off and allow him to feel alive again.

On the bad days he'd just lie in bed all day, allowing that same feeling to overtake him as he struggled not to cry, a thousand memories coming back to him at once and making it so much harder not to think of the fact that he was gone. Every moment they'd spent together, every smile he'd ever given him, every time he'd scolded the redhead, held him when he was little after his father's expectations —which were always high, much too high— drove him to tears. But the worst were the last memories they'd made together, because they featured this new Luke that had known the outside world and learned so much and become an admirable young man who had been ready to die for their sake despite being scared out of his mind. Raising Luke, living with him, he'd always known that he was special —which was why he had forgiven him many a transgression—, but it wasn't until he had been exposed to everything bad the world had to offer that Guy had had the opportunity to _really_ see him grow.

Luke had told him once that his presence made him feel at ease, made him feel like he still had a place where he belonged, and he'd been so happy to provide that for him —especially because he knew just like how much of an outsider the redhead had felt when he'd discovered his true origins—. But it hadn't been until Luke was gone from his life that he'd discovered how much he'd relied on him as well. Pere had always been family, and he had people that he could call trusted friends now, but his house had felt so silent and empty the first time he had walked inside by himself.

He would ask him, he had decided. He would ask him to come live with him if — no, _once_ he came back. Maybe he could finally call this place a home once he recovered the missing piece of his life.

And maybe then this nowadays monochromatic world would once again regain its colors.

But for now, all he could do was wait.


End file.
